The Queen's Little Secret
by whenimaunicorn
Summary: Finally gaining the throne, our Hero finds that she cannot rest easy in the virtuous, straight-laced life of a monarch, after seeing what goes on inside Reaver's mansion. Set before the Crawler comes to Albion, pure lemons, some kink
1. Chapter 1

Since taking the throne of Albion, the new Queen Allrianne had done her best to do right by the people. Keeping her promises, she had given them freedoms and protections they had not known since her father's days. She intended to restore her family's good name as well as protect the kingdom from the coming darkness, a task that occupied almost all of her waking hours.

One distraction continued to irritate the back of her mind, however – that night she and Page crashed the "masquerade" at Reaver's mansion. She knew that his Wheel of Misfortune was no longer in use, but if he was capable of killing innocents for his amusement once, how to be sure he was not doing so again, under her very nose? Our Hero decided that Reaver's next party warranted a surprise inspection. And since she couldn't trust that Reaver wouldn't buy off anyone that she sent, a personal visit seemed to be in order. The fact that the man gave her the chills was not cause to avoid her duties. She would rest easier knowing that even if she could not remove Reaver from Albion, she could at least keep his depravities in check. Though he had assured her on multiple occasions that everything was "above board" and no one was hurt or made to do anything against their will at his continued masquerades (and he was no longer friends with any balverines), she could not relax until she had seen for herself.

It was an easy task to overhear the gossip amongst her court's insipid nobility about Reaver's next soiree. The giggles and protests of "of course _I'm _not going, but could you imagine…" were all the Queen needed to hear to arouse her suspicions. This time, she would not be arriving in disguise. Stronger and more powerful than she had been when last she entered that evil man's home, Allrianne felt she had nothing to fear in her own kingdom. She even fended off Walter and Ben's suggestions that someone come with her, though privately she was not entirely sure why she was insisting on going alone.

Her carriage arrived at Reaver's new manor a few hours after sundown. She hoped to catch any illicit activities in full swing. She wore her full royal regalia, crown seated proudly atop her pile of curls. Her blade was also strapped across her back, and her pistol at her side – this was no tame court function after all. She may need to be intimidating tonight. Taking a deep breath to steel nerves she didn't realize she had been feeling, Allrianne climbed the steps to the great front door.

It opened before she could raise her arm to knock. "Your Majesty! Please come in," a flustered servant attempting to maintain his composure bowed.

"Don't bother announcing me," Allrianne said curtly as she brushed past him into the house. At least this butler seemed more respectful than that dreadful Barry Hatch. "Which way?"

The servant attempted to usher her into the main hall, but he could barely keep up with the agitated Hero. She wasn't sure why her emotions were running so strongly, though she had been trying not to think of the danger found in Reaver's unnatural skill with his pistol. It would not come to that this evening, he wouldn't dare… Allrianne told herself she was just eager to put the smarmy leader of industry in his place.

She passed a few intoxicated guests in the hallway who gasped as they recognized her imperious form striding past. She burst into the main hall onto a scene that would have made a less worldly princess blush and hide her eyes. The guests were in various stages of undress, some wearing not a stitch but for their elaborate masks. The dining table was haphazardly covered with dishes and half-empty bottles, and the walls were lined with couches, pillows, and silk-covered pallets as if most of the furniture in the house had been brought in here. The guests were draped on them in twos and threes wherever she looked.

"Your majesty, what a delicious surprise!" the saccharine voice of Reaver called from the back of the room. Allrianne's eyes fell on him, and she had to steel herself not to look away in embarrassment. The robber baron sat up from his position between two masked Ladies in their undergarments, his hair fashionably mussed and his shirt hanging open to reveal a pale, well-defined chest. Devilishly handsome in the low light, Reaver winked at the sight of a blush creeping up the Queen's neck. "We have something for every taste here, I'm sure you'll find."

"You know very well I am not here to participate," Allrianne snapped. "I am merely inspecting the premises, making sure no one here is being hurt, or kept against their will…"

"Your Majesty, we all know that I am a champion of pleasure and love! Frankly I am insulted by your supposition that I would detain or hurt anyone… against their will…" he ran his nails down the back of the woman to his left, hard, as he spoke the last, and her eyes rolled up in ecstasy. Allrianne swallowed hard. "But feel free to do any exploring you desire tonight, my little Queen," he added with a smirk, "I know I certainly shall!" He grabbed the woman to his right and kissed her deeply, though his malevolent gaze never left Allrianne's eyes.

"I'm quite certain I'll find nothing I like here," the Queen said, more coldly than she felt. The most peculiar warmth, a quite indescribable sensation, had begun creeping through her core.

Reaver only laughed devilishly in reply as she broke eye contact. "Carry on, everyone. Her Majesty is only interested in preventing suffering. Surely she does not wish to deny you pleasure." And with that he pulled his two ladies back down onto the fluffy mattress and blessedly out of the Queen's sight.

Several of the men, and even a few of the women, leered through their masks at Allrianne as she made her way through the room. In all her time as Queen, Allrianne had failed to see the purpose of a so-called "honor guard," but now found herself wishing fervently that she was not here alone, simply for propriety's sake. Reaver's shameless guests had followed his lead and all looked at her with invitations in their eyes. Those that were not too caught up in their own pleasures, that is. The Queen had intended a righteous, authoritative, and thorough investigation of all the tawdry activities inside this house of ill-repute. But as the guests returned to their revels, she felt more like a prudish busybody intruding on private moments. The slack, ecstatic faces and low moans surrounding her made it obvious everyone in this room was enjoying themselves immensely. The creeping blush did reach her face as she caught sight of a man burying his head eagerly between a well-coiffed lady's thighs. Allrianne looked away hurriedly, only to meet Reaver's smirking gaze, still watching her from his pillows as his hands guided a woman's head to his own nether regions.

Face burning even more fiercely, the Queen directed her attention to an open door off the back of the hall. Perhaps the real evil was hidden deeper in the bowels of the estate, though Allrianne would be surprised if Reaver himself were found to be missing the most sinful show. Mincing her way between the sprawling bodies, she clutched the pistol at her hip reflexively as she heard female screaming emanating from that dark chamber. At last! The trip was not an embarrassing waste, citizens of Albion _were _being exploited in this insufferable man's home.

She burst into the chamber to find a woman, naked from the waist up, draped passively across a large wooden X in the center of the room. Cruel red welts were rising across her back as a man in a black leather mask lifted a whip to strike her again. Allrianne was about to cry some heroic command to halt this torture, when she noticed that the woman was not actually tied down. Her hands tightly gripped a silken cord strung between the supports, and the Queen once again felt a rush of embarrassment as she noticed the woman was grinding herself shamelessly against the wood frame. The next blow fell and Allrianne could hear the enjoyment mixed into the pain of her scream this time. Other occupants of the room looked on admiringly and even enviously, perhaps waiting impatiently for their own turns on the cross.

While it may have been improper, scandalous even, there was certainly nothing but enthusiastic consent going on here. Allrianne spun to return to the main hall, and was forced to stop short rather clumsily in order to avoid bodily contact with the tall, lean form of Reaver filling the doorframe. "Does Her Majesty find herself satisfied yet?" he purred down at her, dark eyes filled with triumph.

Allrianne took a deep breath before forcing herself to admit defeat. Raising her chin, she announced imperiously, "You seem to be complying quite well with the letter of the law, if not quite with the spirit." She jumped a little at the sound of another blow behind her, and another adoring scream.

Reaver bent his head a little closer and ignored her barb, too intent on continuing his own line of innuendo. "I'm sure if Your Majesty would stay a little longer, we could find something to satisfy you even more… completely" he leered. She told herself that the only reason her body felt a thrill at his closeness was because he was one of the only men in Albion taller than she. A Hero's stature certainly detracted somewhat from the romance of a woman's life. Reaver raised a long hand, seemingly to caress her face.

"Do not think you have any right to touch the royal person," she snapped with all the haughtiness she could muster, ignoring the part of her that seemed to long for just that. Submitting to this evil man's advances was entirely out of the question for the Hero of Brightwall.

Reaver's hand hovered for a moment longer as he held her eyes in defiance, then dropped to his side smoothly as he moved himself flush with the wall. "As Her Majesty wishes," he said with a tone of feigned disappointment. "If you will not let yourself be free to explore your desires, I only ask that you leave us free to enjoy ours."

"Yes I was just on my way," she spat hastily, resenting his attempts to take control of the visit and dismiss her. "See that everyone remains 'free' and 'enjoying,'" she commanded contemptuously as she made her way to the exit.

"Such is my utmost pleasure," the libertine bowed as she left, "Tatty Bye!"


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Warning: We're getting explicit now! But would you expect any less from dear Reaver?

Our Hero's next four weeks were spent in turmoil. She tried to carry on with her routine: matters of state, court appearances, quiet dinners with Walter or Page. But she was restless and unsatisfied, and visions of the revelries at Reaver's mansion crept unbidden into her mind at the most awkward moments. She was losing focus and began putting off all royal decisions, large or small. She awoke sweating from dreams in which she was in the positions, both figuratively and literally, that she had seen of some of the masquerade guests. She had a hard time sitting still on the throne after a dream that she had been one of Reaver's partners, and was at an utter loss for words when the man himself finished stating his most recent outlandish proposal that day with a flourish and a smirk. His dark gaze held her eyes longer than was appropriate and she almost blushed. It felt as if the horrible man knew just what she was thinking. Allrianne pulled herself together and dismissed the court without answering, reminding herself that Reaver _always_ assumed _everyone_ was entertaining foul thoughts intimately including his person.

Eventually Allrianne began giving in to the thoughts. Not the thoughts of Reaver, of course, that man's evil deeds had made him unfit to even touch the hem of her skirt. But images of the orgiastic revels to be had at his abode… Delight replaced shame when she imagined what it would be like to be one of the guests at the next party. She wondered: it is a masquerade, after all. If I obtain a good mask, and a dress _not _befitting a queen, who would know? Many of the guests seemed to be keeping their masks on when everything else came off. Who would suspect the queen herself was in attendance?

Once she permitted these ideas, there seemed to be no turning back. She had allowed excited and sweaty men to take her to bed before she gained the throne, but the memories of their mundane and appreciative lovemaking paled in comparison to the pleasures she had glimpsed that night. No other, safer sexual thrills would do now. She told herself it was not the taunting smirk of the host that was drawing her in, not the way Reaver had coldly pushed that Lady's head down the line of his body that was now setting her on fire… It was only the activities she was longing to experience, not their devilish designer. What would it be like to be bound across that cross?

Almost without thinking of it, the queen found herself in possession of a dark green bird's mask and a fairly tacky brocade gown, pilfered from some of her Bowerstone tenants. She felt quite sure that no one seeing her wearing them would make any associations to the throne of Albion, and even a serious inquirer would not be able to track any sales to the Queen. The intricate corset and fancy knickers she would wear underneath were her own, but she knew none of her subjects would dare inquire about the Queen's undergarments! She was certain she would succeed in remaining entirely incognito.

Again she had but to keep her ears open to discover the date of the next masquerade. She complained loudly of a headache at the end of the day's duties, a conference in the War Room at which she could not concentrate on a single word. She retired to her rooms, locked the door, and in ten minutes dropped stealthily out the window wearing her ill-gotten garments. She discreetly hired a carriage in the market district and arrived before Reaver's manor in Millfields right on time.

A well-dressed servant helped her from the carriage, who leered openly when he saw she had no companion escorting her this evening. "Is this by any chance my Lady's first time?" he asked with a wink.

In the palace, the servants spoke when spoken to, and never so personally. Tonight Allrianne found the change positively refreshing. "Oh it's hardly my first time," she said rather salaciously, "but I have not yet had the pleasure of attending an event at Reaver's manor."

"Well we promise you won't find yourself disappointed here," the servant bowed as they reached the door, "and I'll be watching for you my dear" he muttered as she turned to enter the hall. Allrianne stopped in shock for a moment at that, but did not turn around to chastise the impertinent man. One must expect that Reaver's servants would be as foul as the man himself. In fact, as she walked down the hall she felt a small thrill at the thought of the staff peeking in on the debauchery of which she was about to partake…

Allrianne paused at the doorway to the main hall. Her nerves fluttered and she found she was breathing quite deeply. It was one thing to decide to return to this scene of temptation, it was quite another to actually be here, to open that door and at the same time open herself to those hungry stares, hungry hands, hungry lips… Her thoughts were interrupted as the door opened from the inside, by a well-built young man wearing only breeches and mask. He paused his rush through the portal, eyeing the disguised queen up and down. "Lovely," he cried, and grabbing her hand he pulled her into a spin. Allrianne could not help but smile as she turned lightly on her feet, ending with her back up against the young man's chest. "You look positively ravishing my dear, promise you'll save me a dance?" he asked against her ear, then gave it a nibble. When Allrianne nodded, he spun her back out and then was off, continuing his dash down the hallway in the direction she had come. "I shall return!" he cried drunkenly before he turned the corner.

And with that, Allrianne turned and entered the dining hall. She had arrived much earlier than last time. The couches, pillows, and makeshift beds still lined the walls, but the guests were congregated around the table or near the musicians playing in one corner. The merry music and flowing libations had not yet combined to help the guests overcome their initial shyness – though there were a few couples already locked in embrace, most of the partygoers were still standing, conversing, and shooting each other coy glances. Allrianne went to the table, poured herself a tall glass of mead, and attempted to blend in with the rest of the guests.

It became almost immediately clear that though identities were perhaps anonymous, most of the partygoers were quite familiar with each other already, and that Allrianne was the only newcomer in attendance. In no time she was pulled into dance after dance. As she finished her glass, she felt herself relax into the flow of the evening. She let herself be passed from one partner to the next, enjoying gentle caresses and low words of flattery from these surprisingly respectful men and women. It all seemed so… tame! What were they all waiting for?

In the next spin of the dance she was caught by long arms impeccably dressed in flawless white and shiny brass. Her breath caught in her throat as she looked up into the face of the evening's host. "Now what do we have here?" crooned a haughty voice as Reaver held her out by the waist and let his eyes roam greedily over her figure. Allrianne held her breath. This was the true test of her flimsy disguise. Would the industrial leader, a begrudged member of her own advisory board, see through the mask and recognize the wanton Queen for who she really was? "A positively _scrumptious _new addition," he cried with delight, "who can I thank for this most pleasant surprise?" Reaver looked around the room for someone to take credit for her invitation, pulling Allrianne into the next steps of the dance as he did. The Queen resumed breathing in relief at being mistaken for just another undiscovered beauty of Albion. "No one?" Reaver responded to the party's silence. "Our brave little bird came alone," he said, leaning in to speak only to Allrianne. "All the better. If you were someone's date, I'd have to shoot him merely on principle!" he laughed, unconsciously fondling his trademark pistol, which he wore tucked into his jacket even here. Allrianne suddenly became conscious of how exposed she herself felt without the weapons that had become almost a part of her as a young Hero.

"But M-master Reaver," she stammered, attempting to disguise her voice from him under a layer of uncharacteristic meekness, "is this party not about _sharing_ pleasure?"

"Of course, child, so long as I'm the one getting the biggest share!" He spun her unexpectedly, then drew her back in flush against his body. "I am going to make you _scream_ tonight, love" he promised against her cheek, the hand gripping her waist squeezing tight, "But if you insist on sharing first…" he spun her off again, into the arms of the young shirtless man she had met at the door. Reaver plucked another young woman as she danced past, and retreated with her off the dance floor as Allrianne twirled in the other direction.

Allrianne had tried to pretend that a Reaver party came without Reaver. Did she really think that she was going to be able to come and enjoy his libertine hospitality without having to interact with the man himself? She forced herself to stop trembling. Perhaps he would grow distracted with other diversions, and forget his newest guest? She snuck a peek over the shoulder of her dance partner, toward the direction she had seen that ridiculous top hat retreating. Reaver sat sprawled on a couch, straddled by an eager young woman dripping with pink lace. He locked eyes with Allrianne and tipped his hat smugly to her as his partner covered his chest in kisses. Allrianne looked away quickly, trying to ignore the flush creeping through her body at the dark look in his eyes. She was _not_ attracted to that twisted, evil man! And to prove it, she stopped dancing and drew her handsome young partner into a deep kiss.

He responded eagerly, parting her lips with his tongue and pulling her off the dance floor at the same time. Allrianne let her hands roam over the smooth chest and tug at his tousled blonde hair. The young man was quite pleasing to both the eye and the touch. She let him pull her down to a nearby pallet covered in silken pillows, and relaxed into enjoyment of his skilled mouth on her neck, her ears, her chest. She tried not to think of Reaver's presence on the other side of the room.

Suddenly the young man stopped his ministrations. "Maybe you could use another drink?" he asked shyly. Allrianne realized she was responding hardly at all; this was little better than the furtive rolls in the hay she could have experienced under much more respectable conditions out in the villages. She nodded politely and the young man escorted her back to the table, finding her another cup of mead.

"Taking a break, little bird?" Reaver's ever-mocking voice called from the other end of the table. Allrianne had not seem him there, would not have come to the table if she had… She turned to face him but could think of no reply. The edge of boredom and disappointment she had been feeling disintegrated under the wave of nervous excitement his voice instilled. He had left his hat and coat somewhere, so that he appeared less of an aristocratic caricature and more a predatory, virile man, lack of pistol notwithstanding. "Why don't you come over here and take your refreshment from my lap," he invited, shifting in his chair and extending a large hand toward her. The others around the table fell silent, all eyes turning to her expectantly, in some cases enviously.

Reaver's eyes remained locked on her own as she made her way toward the head of the table; a snake hypnotizing its prey. Allrianne's feet moved her toward him before she was conscious of deciding to accept his invitation. She spared not even a glance for the forgotten young blonde behind her. All the Queen's repressed desire for this man was quite holding back her more proper resistance. She did not come here to be proper.

Reaver's hand guided her down to rest across his knees. It remained wrapped familiarly around her waist as he used the other to take away the goblet of mead she still clutched. "This will not do at all, my dear. I put that out for the ignorant peons. Now this," he purred with satisfaction as he put another glass in her hand, "is a brilliant red I picked up in Samarkand. Note the exotic undertones of cinnamon and indecency." Allrianne sipped appreciatively. She had abolished the palace's own budget for such frivolity in wartime, and missed drink with such complexity. As she tasted the wine, Reaver's fingers played softly over the back of her neck. "Tell me little bird," he murmured close to her ear, "What are you wearing under this flimsy little dress?"

Allrianne felt a definite thrill at his impertinent question. "What a proper lady should of course, a fine corset and silk knickers."

Reaver leaned closer, his lips touching the outside of her ear now. "Those knickers are coming off. I want you to stand up and lift your skirts." His tone was cold, commanding, that of a man that would punish disobedience promptly. Swallowing hard, Allrianne set her drink down shakily and stood, trying not to notice if anyone was looking at her. She felt exhilarated and shy, arousal and fear mixing into a delicious sensation. With some surprise, she watched herself do exactly as he said. She balled the fabric of her gown and petticoats in her fists and slowly raised them, eyes carefully not looking at anything in particular. Reaver's skilled hand deftly snaked up before much of her legs were exposed, however, and curtly pulled her undergarments down to the floor. "Now keep your skirts up and sit back down, I want your bare bottom touching me."

The disguised Queen felt the most delicious rush as she complied. She was surprised how sensitive the backs of her thighs could be as she felt the slight scratch of the twill pants, and the warmth of the body underneath. "Much better," said Reaver, as he handed the dark wine back to her. His other hand dove under her skirt, playing along the outside of her thigh. He retrieved his own glass. "A toast!" he called to the other guests around the table. "I believe it's your turn, Mister Fox?" he said to a man near the other end of the table, evidently referring to him by the shape of the mask he wore.

"Yes, yes," muttered a deep pompous voice from behind a set of large white mustaches. "Raise your glasses, everyone, to Reaver, a host of great renown and admiration. His generosity is matched only by-" Allrianne stopped hearing the man's words as Reaver's fingers crept between her legs. Gently yet playfully, he stroked the outer lips of her core in a way that left her panting. A satisfied smirk twisted Reaver's lips, but his eyes remained politely fixed on the speaker. "Truly he is first among men-" Reaver's fingers twisted their way in to find her swollen clit and she bit her lip to avoid crying out and interrupting the speech. "So ready to share all the advantages he has gained-" the quick, small circles his fingertips were drawing drove every thought from Allrianne's mind. She opened her eyes to see that Reaver's eyes had moved to her heaving breasts, straining above her tight corset. His lecherous gaze brought back some semblance of self-consciousness. Was she, the Hero Queen of Albion, really allowing herself to be diddled on Reaver's lap? Before she could follow the thought any further, he plunged two of his fingers inside her. The intensity of the sensation finally forced a cry from her lips, which was fortunately drowned in the "Hear hear!"s shouted by the partygoers as the speech concluded.

Fingers slowly pumping into the naughty Hero, Reaver feigned humility as he addressed his guests. "I love you all so much, your words touch me so very deeply. Now, let us resume touching each other deeply, shall we?" Accentuating his own pun, Reaver slipped a third finger between Allrianne's slick folds. Her head rolled back with a moan; she was certain the other partygoers knew by now what Reaver was doing beneath her skirts. The shame of that thought only seemed to warm her more. "My, my, my," Reaver said to her lowly, catching her eyes with a patronizing look, "you look ready to burst with pleasure already! And I haven't even finished unwrapping my new toy," he pouted, withdrawing his hand and lifting Allrianne's hips to the table with surprising speed.

The Queen sat facing him, arms splayed back to hold herself up, lips forming a pout of protest at the interruption in stimulation. "This little bird has entirely too many feathers" he announced, pulling her gown down off her shoulders. He nipped at her neck as he reached around to the strings at her back, in no time loosening her corset and baring her from the waist up. His dark eyes gleamed as her ample breasts bounced free of their constraints. "Très délicieux," he said under his breath, and set to work with hands and lips. Allrianne arched her back wantonly under his ministrations. He teased her mercilessly, sucking and stretching her nipples just to the point of pain and back to pleasure again. She threw her head over one shoulder and opened her eyes for a moment, spotting Mr. Fox staring at her from a few seats away, his hand down his pants. She didn't care. The only thing that mattered was that Reaver keep touching her, keep doing these amazing things to her body…

He stopped. Allrianne looked breathlessly into his eyes. The confident sneer she was so used to staring down in the throne room was now tinged with a barely controlled lust. "Now my dear," he said darkly, "I'd say it's high time you show your esteemed host how grateful you are, yes?" Taking her hand, he guided her to her feet.

Allrianne felt her dress slipping the rest of the way off and she reflexively clutched it to her hip with her free hand. Reaver's eyes, still locked on her own, flashed in amusement.

"Modesty, after all this?" he asked, clucking his tongue at her. He very firmly tugged the cloth out of her hand and let it fall to the floor. "Oh, yes," he murmured approvingly as he looked down her battle-toned figure. "You look like a girl who could take some punishment. Maybe dish some out, too," he chuckled to himself.

Still holding her hand tightly, Reaver took a few steps back toward a silk-covered mattress on the floor behind him. Not willing to show her true strength in resistance, Allrianne was forced to come along, stepping out of the puddle of clothes around her ankles and crossing the room wearing only her boots and mask. She felt the many eyes in the room like little electric shocks on her buttocks, thighs, and breasts as she minced her way past. She was oddly both relieved and disappointed when Reaver pulled her down to pillows.

He had lost his shirt on the way, and Allrianne was surprised at the amount of scars crisscrossing his torso. She did not know much about the industrialist's history, but apparently rumors of a pirating past could very well be true. Though he seemed too young to have lived both lives. Reaver lay back arrogantly against the pillows now, one hand lazily unfastening his belt. Her eyes were transfixed by what strained the fabric below. The visual proof of a man's desire always warmed her; on Reaver it gave her chills. "Look what you've done," Reaver smirked, freeing the belt and plunging his hand into his trousers. "Come and show me if that mouth of yours can do what I think it can." He pulled his manhood out into the air as he guided Allrianne's hand to it. Pale as the rest of him and velvety smooth, Allrianne could not help but curl her fingers around and deliver a few smooth strokes.

"Ah-h-h yes," Reaver hissed, eyes closed as he fell back against the pillows. "Enjoy it, little bird. The finest cock in all the land." After a moment he opened one eye and added "It tastes even better than it looks."

Well, the Queen thought to herself, I did come here to be scandalous, and it would only be right to thank the host… She bent down from her kneeling position, settling elbows into a pillow by Reaver's hips and lowering her mouth to his tip. She swirled her tongue lightly around the head before closing her lips around it, eliciting a low groan from the man.

"That's right my little whore, try a suck." She pulled him further into her mouth as she ran her hand down the rest of his impressive length.

Reaver's fingers clutched her thigh, then traveled up to caress the buttocks she was sticking brazenly in the air. "Such a wanton creature, so eager to please. How is it that this is the first time we've met?" He clutched her ass spasmodically as she continued to work him. "Though perhaps this is not our first meeting," he mused, though his ragged breathing was beginning to interrupt the flow of his prose.

"I imagine you could be anyone. Admiring me from a distance all of this time, finally daring to set foot in my manor…" he trailed off as she increased her pace, trying to distract him from this line of thinking. Though the idea of her identity being discovered did take her arousal to new heights. As did Reaver's fingers, once again playing between her legs. "You tried to fight your attraction to me at first, don't worry my dear, you all do. You thought – oh yes stroke it just like that love – you thought of me at night, alone in your bed, desperately touching yourself, but alas it just wasn't enough. You just had to come here and see what dear Reaver had for you."

Without warning he rose, and pushed Allrianne on her back. He kneeled over her, looming, cock in hand. "And just look at what you've won," he concluded, stroking himself firm and fast. "So much more than you even imagined!" His seed burst forth and rained down over the masked Hero's face and chest. Her shock quickly gave way to the oddest mixture of pleasure and humiliation as she felt the hot droplets cool on her skin. Reaver looked down proudly at his work. "Now there's an adornment worthy of a queen!"

Allrianne froze, searching his face but still seeing no signs of recognition. A simple joke then. "Is my little bird disappointed?" he asked sarcastically, misinterpreting her still features. "Don't you worry, the fun is far from over." He ran his hands down her parted thighs, spreading them wider and dropping to his belly. All worries flew from her mind when his tongue hit her cleft. He lapped slowly, lazily, along her whole vulva, clutching her hips tight with his hands. He ate her like a man savoring his favorite meal. She arched her back, squirmed, clutched at the pillows as he drew circles around her clit, sucked it lightly, went back to lapping. The man was _good. _She felt the warmth beginning to build in her core, pleasure rising swiftly to almost unbearable heights. She found herself quietly moaning between gasps. Reaver increased his pace, making his own pleased growls as well.

A pool of Reaver's cum was dislodged from her chest by her squirms and Allrianne felt it run suddenly down the side of her breast. This reminder of her recent treatment pushed the Queen right over the edge, and she came violently with scream.

Reaver slowed for only a moment, then continued mercilessly with his steady twists and sucks until he had wrung two more orgasms from her. It was only when she was positively sobbing that he withdrew. The tall man sprawled out upon the pillows alongside her. "I told you I'd make you scream tonight," he said in a low voice, head propped up on one hand as he looked smugly down the length of her.

Allrianne could barely muster the willpower to turn her head to meet his gaze, and cross one knee over the other in some semblance of ladylike decorum. She wanted to make some kind of witty retort, but her mind was not forming any words for her. She felt… fuzzy around the edges, somewhat floaty, and deeply satisfied. Except…

"Are you not going to take me tonight, Master Reaver?" Wit, she had none of, but subservience apparently came easily to her in this state.

"I'd say that would be positively greedy of me," he responded with lidded eyes. "We've only just met anyway, where would my manners be if I were to do such a thing? No, you were such an unexpected surprise in what was becoming a rather tedious tradition," he paused, eyes sweeping the room of masked lovers. "I must leave myself something to look forward to next time. Anticipation is a heady spice."

"Are you so sure I'll come back then," asked the Queen, her spirit finally returning to her.

Reaver looked down at her, one aristocratic eyebrow raised. "I've seen into your lusty little soul tonight. Tell yourself what you want, but you can't lie to me. Someone like you can't do this just once." He produced a handkerchief and dropped it on her sticky chest. "We've only scratched the surface of the things I can do to you," he promised as he got up and made his exit.


	3. Chapter 3

Reaver sat alone by the fireplace enjoying his last drink of the evening, the sound of the servants cleaning up in the next room clattering faintly in the background. What a surprising night this turned out to be, he mused. He had thought it only wishful thinking on his part, that the Queen was suppressing her own naughty interest when she rushed out of her inspection of his last masquerade. When he spotted her regal form dancing among his guests this very evening, he almost lost his perfect composure. Albion's new queen may have fooled her common subjects with that cheap dress and close-fitting mask, but there was no disguising a Hero's grace and energy from one such as he.

Reaver chuckled as he recalled the way Allrianne had squirmed each time he looked at her. He found that he couldn't resist alluding to her identity at every opening, just to see her stumble. She was so delightfully naïve! To think she could walk into his domain and remain undiscovered… But play along, he certainly would. Allrianne had occupied more than her share of Reaver's thoughts since he had met the nubile young hero. He had been working out a plan of his own for getting into her bed of course, but it was positively thrilling to have that luscious bottom fall right into his lap. He was not going to squander his chance to have her willingly, in every way his deviant mind could dream up.

Besides, at heart this was a business opportunity. He was having entirely too much trouble guiding the soft-hearted Queen in the best interests of Albion, policy-wise. It seemed that as soon as she saw him in the throne room, Her Majesty closed her ears to good fiscal sense. But after tonight, Reaver was sure things would begin to turn around. The next time she set eyes upon her dashing captain of industry, the Queen was sure to be in a more… receptive frame of mind.

And if changes were not apparent immediately, why Reaver would continue to work his charms. He would give Allrianne everything she was yearning for, and everything she had coming to her. Her every dark desire filled, new tastes shaped, his dominance over her consolidated… how far could it be, from slave in the bedroom to slave in the throne room?


	4. Chapter 4

Allrianne slept oh so soundly after creeping back through the window of her palace bedroom. She put off thinking about what had happened for the next day.

When the morning came, she found herself a little queasy. Things had not gone as she had expected, she had not behaved, or felt, the way she had meant to… Reaver. Of all people, she had submitted to Reaver? Briefly she pondered whether that fine wine he had handed her was drugged. But no, she forced herself to admit that the seduction had begun well before that point. As loathsome as she found the man's politics, she could no longer deny the pull of his handsome smirk on her flesh. His villainous reputation only served to heighten the magnetism of his presence in the room that night.

Allrianne had discovered that the sheer _wrongness_ of the orgiastic revelry was the source of her desire to attend, and there was nothing there more wrong than Reaver himself. The merest touch of his spidery hands had ignited more arousal than any lover she had taken to her bed, just because she knew it shouldn't. And when he did more than merely touch… She nearly swooned as she recalled the unholy skill of his tongue. Somehow he had managed to maintain his air of self-indulgent command even as he performed such a usually servile act. He had conquered her, forcing her orgasm again and again for his own amusement.

And he had all but promised to claim her completely upon their next meeting. Allrianne's treasonous mind filled with images of how it might happen. She saw herself bent on hands and knees in animalistic submission, felt him above her hand on her mouth in a dark corner, saw him taking her ferociously right on the dining table. Her face flamed and she tingled below the waist. She was glad no servant had yet entered to wake her, as her hand crept beneath the sheet and she enacted the very scenario Reaver had described while her mouth was worshipping his perfect cock. She brought herself to climax imagining him in this very bedchamber, having seen through her disguise and coming to claim her forcibly in her own seat of power.

She dressed hurriedly afterwards, trying to rid herself of un-Queenly thoughts. The responsibilities of her office were weighty, and put her in direct opposition with the interests of Reaver Industries. No matter how handsome and skilled their figurehead may be. She would remain disguised, and steal her pleasures under the very nose of the rogue himself.

**A/N: Sorry for the teaser, writing up the next juicy visit right now! In which Our Queen gets exactly what's coming to her...**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Lemons, lemons, lemons. Kink approaching non-con, but we know our Hero could protect herself if she really wanted to, eh?**

Allrianne paused on the steps of Reaver's manor, taking one last gulp of pure, fresh air. She wore the same green bird's mask as the last time, but this time paired it with mercenary's shorts and thigh-high striped stockings. The invitation she had stolen stated there was a costume theme this time: "Hoist the Black Flag: Plunder with the Pirate King. Show Reaver your Pirate Booty." Not very subtle, but when was he? She stepped inside and shed her jacket, handing it absentmindedly to the servant who walked her to the dining room.

This time, she was fashionably late to the party. No longer trying to escape Reaver's notice, she wanted to make an entrance in her snug corset, barely there shorts and tall black boots. She was pleased to note the many eyes turned to her as she walked in, and noted smugly that none of these pampered nobles wore the trappings of the high seas half so well as she. Nor as Reaver. He stood with his back to her, the center of attention as always, wine glass in one hand. He wore a brilliant crimson coat rather than his usual white, with tight breeches fit for any adventure. Noticing the distraction of his companions toward the door, he turned and looked at Allrianne. His usual smirk stretched into a darkly satisfied grin, no longer teasing but rather reveling in conquest close at hand. "The mysterious little bird returns," he called, and walked, no, _prowled_, over to her. "It would have been such a miserable evening without the main prize here to plunder."

He reached out and grasped the back of her head, the other arm coming around her waist. He tilted her backward and claimed her mouth with his own. Allrianne felt all resistance and self-possession melting under that kiss, so hungry yet so controlled. She realized this was the first time Reaver's lips had ever touched her own, as his tongue pushed into her mouth, eager to conquer new territory.

He drew back just a fraction, one hand withdrawing to reach into a pocket. The other balled into a fist in her hair. "I was _entirely _too nice to you last time, love." Though his mouth still held that thin smile, his eyes glittered coldly. He held up a black leather collar, of all things, complete with leash hanging down to the floor. There would be no easing into the evening this time it seemed; the games would begin immediately. "Now, I think that it's high time you learned your place." He twisted his hand in her hair, the tugging pain emphasizing his point. The disguised Queen gasped in excitement. "You may have been a wild creature once, but now that you have submitted to your desire for me my dear, I will not be satisfied until I own you. Your lithe little body is mine, to do with as I please. Oh, I may share you now and again, as it amuses me to do so, but you will not forget that you are subject to my every whim and desire. And that you chose this." He released her hair and held the collar up and open, with both hands. "Do you accept?"

Allrianne swallowed hard, eyes fixed on the collar held up before her. She reminded herself that this was surely only a game, and what else had she come here for if not to experience pleasure in the ways it seemed only Reaver could now give to her? Wordlessly, she stepped forward and placed her neck inside those embracing arms of soft leather.

Reaver released a breath neither had realized he was holding, and deftly buckled the clasp. "Come along then," he said, retreating into that mocking tone he used on everyone, spinning on his heel and tugging the leash to pull Allrianne after him. "I'm ever so excited to show off my new pet."

It was hard for Allrianne to feel graceful as she followed him, the way he was tugging. He walked her back to the group of men he had been talking with when she arrived, who welcomed her with lascivious gazes. "Kneel," Reaver commanded, pointing to the floor next to him. Allrianne took a moment to react; this was so far outside of anything she had experienced before. Lightning-quick, Reaver's expression turned dark and the back of his hand struck her face. "Did I stutter?"

Allrianne dropped to her knees wordlessly. The blow had not been hard enough to affect her balance, but the effective reprimand left a warm sting. Paradoxically, she found that the moment of violence pleased her. She felt excited and almost wished he would do it again. Perhaps a weaker woman would be frightened, but the protection of her Hero's strength left Allrianne few worries about her safety.

"Perhaps my new pet is going to need more training than I thought," Reaver mused, his mood lifting just as quickly when she complied with the original command. "But first, she needs a name. Now, what would be fitting…" He reached down and stroked her hair in a comforting way, like one would do with a dog. His hand stopped moving as an idea struck him. "Oh yes! Just the thing! I shall call you Precious," he said with a grin, turning her face up to meet his eyes. Once more Allrianne had to school her reaction; that was the name of her own beloved dog!

"Precious, sir?" one of the men in the group inquired.

"Yes, of course! It is the name of our lovely Queen's devoted hound. I've never seen a more spirited bitch in need of some strict training."

"You mean the dog or the Queen, Master Reaver?" another man asked, and the group erupted into raucous laughter.

Reaver allowed himself a smile at the quip. Allrianne fumed, internally. All the men aside from Reaver were masked, so there was no recognizing their treasonous faces, but she tried to commit their voices to memory. She was shocked that anyone in Albion would laugh about their ruler that way, after all she'd done for them! From Reaver she expected it, but the Queen would brook no insolence from any other of her subjects.

But she was not the queen here. "Come along now, Precious," Reaver called, tugging on the leash as he turned away from the group. Allrianne began to stand. "No," his rough command halted her, "you will crawl." He tugged again, holding his arm out to ensure the collar compressed her windpipe slightly on the side.

Allrianne's face flamed as she leaned forward on her hands and lifted her bottom in the air, pointing it directly at the men who were still chuckling at their queen's expense. The most dignified crawl she could muster was also the most sensual, her hips bobbing from side to side as she rolled her joints with a feline grace. She lost her rhythm when she realized where Reaver was taking her – they were headed toward that door at the back of the room, the one that had opened onto a torture chamber when she had first visited this place. She felt a chill rush through her body. What was Reaver going to do to her next?

This time, the centerpiece of the small room was a bench, padded with leather. Various implements hung within reach on the wall; chains and ropes were piled about. A man-sized cage sat in one corner.

Reaver sat down with a flourish on the bench. "Come here, Precious." He watched her crawl to him, eyes dripping with amusement at her low state. He reached out and cupped the side of her face when she reached him and hesitantly sat back on her heels. He kept his hand there, strangely tender, as he detached the leash from her collar with the other. Allrianne felt a flush of warmth at the comforting touch, and closed her eyes. The caress lifted, and was replaced with a hard slap. "You're too trusting" was the only explanation when she opened her eyes and glared at him in shock. He held her gaze levelly, then leaned in close, to whisper just above her mouth. "I want to see your beautiful body decorated in black and blue."

He claimed her lips again, and drew her up into his lap. His strong hands put her just where he wanted, sitting across his knees. He bit at her lips and teased with his tongue as he removed her corset and threw it across the room. Then he turned her over across his lap and wrenched her flimsy shorts down, baring her bottom. Allrianne noted indignantly that a crowd was forming in the room; most of tonight's guests seemed intent on witnessing her humiliation. Reaver's spidery hand caressed her right buttock. "Such pristine flesh," he mused, "such porcelain skin. I wonder if it's ever received the flogging I'm going to give tonight." His hand came down with a crack that resounded through the room. "Tell me, Precious, have you ever been given a proper beating?" His hand cracked down again, then remained, fondling her bare flesh as he waited for her response.

Allrianne's father had been decidedly soft on his children, for a warrior king. In her recent travels she had been quite fairly trounced by a mercenary crew or two; a giant beast named Saker came to mind, but there was a tale that would out her identity for sure. What was there to say? "No, Master Reaver," she heard herself reply, "I can't say I've received nearly as good as I've deserved."

That response earned her not only a satisfied chuckle, but also a rain of blows across both buttocks and the back of her thighs. His rhythm cycled and escalated in such a way that she felt a warm, satisfying ache growing all across her skin. She was very conscious of the cleft between her legs, which his hands never touched but had begun a throbbing ache all its own. She longed for him to push her onto the bench and use on her instead the erection she could feel growing against her hip.

But he did not. The blows continued to fall, and now that warm ache was turning into a sharp sting, not nearly so pleasant as her rear started taking damage from the increasing impacts. She tried to muffle the groans that started to follow every hit, but had less control over her squirming as her body attempted to escape further punishment.

"Sshhh, Precious," he soothed, going back to caressing the abused flesh. "I thought you agreed you deserved this." She could just imagine the trademark smirk on his face as he continued to mock her. "You haven't even come close to receiving as good as you're going to get tonight, surely you don't want me to stop already?"

The rebellious Hero responded by grinding her body against Reaver's trapped and straining erection.

"Such a wanton thing you are. Trying to skip to the end?" He clucked his tongue at her. He hit her harder than ever, drawing a cry from her lips despite her best efforts. With her nerves so exquisitely primed, that _hurt_. "Whatever gave you the idea that you should get anything that _you_ want here?" He continued his solid whacks, and Allrianne no longer tried to hold back the whimpers. "Now you're starting to understand! You get nothing I do not wish to give you. You exist only for my amusement. And right now… that sound you're making… _quite _amusing." Her breath was starting to come in sobs between her ragged cries, tears squeezing out between clenched eyelids.

She knew she could give up this game at any moment, but somehow that made this _worse. _Here she was, the rightful Queen of Albion, letting herself be spanked like a petulant little girl just for a chance at Reaver's cock. His hand slowed again. Not because she wanted, because he wanted. His fingertips danced over her bruised flesh and felt like the kisses of angels. "There's that color I wanted," he said. Allrianne hoped he hadn't noticed how much more force it took to blemish Hero's skin. She couldn't tell how much time she had spent in a world narrowed down to her thighs, his hands, and the sound of her own screams in her ears. "Stand up, Precious, let the people see you."

She had forgotten about the voyeurs. Wearing nothing but collar, boots, and stockings rolled down to her knees, Allrianne stood to her full height, hands on her hips, and presented her backside to the gasping and catcalling crowd. She had intended to give Reaver a haughty stare down her nose as he remained seated before her, but her tear-stained mask and the fine tremble to her limbs belied the act.

Reaver looked smugly over her full frontal nudity, adjusting his cravat. "And now you've earned a little treat, pet." He leaned back on his hands with a leer and spread his legs, thrusting his hips toward her. "Kneel down and worship your god."

Though part of the Queen recoiled at the smug, blasphemous remark, her animal self rushed eagerly at the chance to please the Master, and change the tone of the night from pain to pleasure. Her heavy breasts bounced as she dropped to her knees and greedily tore at his trousers. His impressive length sprang from its prison into her eager hands, and Reaver rolled his head back with a groan as Allrianne took him immediately into her mouth, sucking his cock down as far she could. She was relentless tonight, too excited to tease. She grabbed his shaft at the base as she sucked up and down the length of him. Her whole body bobbed with each movement.

She was rewarded by a reprieve from Reaver's customary monologue, imagining that her assault on his cock was driving any attempts at wit from his mind. She did not notice him gesture a summons to a young blonde watching hopefully from the sidelines. Allrianne certainly noticed the sudden feeling of delicate hands on her rear end, however, as the girl knelt behind Reaver's prized pet and caressed her bruised arse. Before Allrianne could turn and look at the intruder, Reaver's hand was clamped on the back of her neck, forcing her to stay focused on the task at hand. "Ah ah ah," he chided, "Don't get distracted or I'll change my mind. Lift those scrumptious hips of yours, give your new friend some room to work."

Allrianne complied, lifting her body and spreading her knees. Just as she had cravenly hoped, the newcomer's fingers, then tongue, began playing with her neglected sex. She moaned around a mouthful of Reaver's cock, sliding her lips up and down with relish as long-awaited pleasure flowed through her body. Allrianne had never felt herself interested in women before, but with Reaver giving the commands, she found that it made not a bit of difference in her mind. In fact, the girl's gentle, coaxing style was turning out to be a joy the Queen had never quite experienced before. She felt immersed in a warm ocean as waves of pleasure ebbed and flowed over her, each one adding to the pressure she felt building in her core. Reaver made some kind of crass comment about the sight of the two ladies together, but Allrianne only had thought for matching the rhythm she was pulling on his cock to the crashing of the waves she felt inside her. She verbalized that rhythm in little moans curling from the back of her throat.

Reaver interrupted the rhythm with a harsh tug on her hair. "Be careful, pet, I see that you are enjoying yourself, but you mustn't come for anyone other than me." He left his hand on the back of her head, encouraging each thrust she made on his shaft a little deeper.

Allrianne tried to comply with her new Master's rule, but the tongue on her clit was so wickedly skilled. Absentmindedly, the girl grasped at Allrianne's thigh, the touch awakening recently abused nerve endings and drawing Reaver's merciless beating into Allrianne's mind. Those waves of pleasure throbbed stronger with the recollection, and a moment later Reaver shoved her head down, choking her with his manhood as he hissed in pleasure. It was all too much for poor Allrianne, and she came with a muffled scream as that building tension broke through her body, outside of all control. Her hands stayed wrapped around Reaver's cock, but it was obvious to all what had just happened.

The room was silent for a moment. "Leave us," Reaver's voice called out in a dark, choked tone. The girl at Allrianne's back scrambled up, and the whole group of onlookers scurried out in a flash, closing the door behind them with a thud. A chill of fear mingled viscerally with the warmth of the Queen's receding orgasm. The hand still clamped at the back of her head forced her up to meet Reaver's angry eyes. Gone was the cold, detached amusement. His gaze was all heat and passion now as he stared at her without any of his characteristic chattiness. With an unexpected shove, he threw her to the side, across the room.

Allrianne recovered quickly, coming to her feet in a defensive stance, but Reaver was on her before she could gain control of the situation. He slammed her against the wall, pinning her hands with his own. "Wild, wanton thing. It seems obedience is beyond you. I'll have to tame you more forcefully." He encircled both of her wrists in one of his large hands, and used the other to position himself at her entrance. Still reflexively fighting back, Allrianne did not part her legs to help him, and he could get no farther. A wordless noise of rage accompanied a quick twisting maneuver that landed the Queen on her back, Reaver coming down on top between her splayed knees. He grabbed her jaw, looked wildly into her eyes, and thrust home.

After all the night's excitement, Allrianne was quite ready to receive him, but was still overwhelmed by the way he stretched and filled her, and by the dark intensity of his gaze. "You – are – mine," he growled, emphasizing each word with another savage thrust. As he continued to pound into her, Allrianne found herself raising her knees to deepen his impact. She wanted him to have her, as much as possible, as much as he wanted… When her eyes glazed over from the pleasure, Reaver released her jaw and let her head roll back. He grasped her thighs and rose up to his knees, taking his full pleasure by slamming her hips against him midair. Allrianne could only brace herself against the floor and enjoy the ride. She could feel a second orgasm building through this rough treatment, and she absentmindedly wondered if she had his permission this time. Reaver seemed close to the brink himself as his pace increased.

Suddenly he slowed, dropping her hips to the floor and pulling her face to his again. "Now prove you can be a good girl," he said, swirling his hips with relish as he lay buried inside her, "I want you to come for me now." He began a slow, relentless rhythm, drawing himself almost out of her and forcing his way back in deep. He kept his eyes locked on hers in a dark, unreadable expression as the pleasure began to overtake her. His dominance was… primal, not at all what she expected from the aristocratic veneer he showed the world. It touched something equally animalistic in her, and she came with shuddering moans, eyes as trapped in his gaze as her body was beneath his weight.

She thought she heard a triumphant growl as Reaver pressed deeply one last time, then collapsed on top of her. The hand he left on her face moved in what almost could be mistaken for a tender caress, before he rolled off of her with a contented sigh and retreated to his detached charm. "Did you enjoy your lesson, pet?"

Allrianne could only smile.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **Thanks for the love and reviews! For my birthday today, I couldn't resist giving my pets a little tease, and hints at things to come...

The sweet humiliation of Reaver's little dominance game filled the Queen with luxurious satisfaction every time she remembered it. Over the following days she spent many an idle moment recalling with shivers his cold commands and casual violence. In her real life, she hated being told what to do; the roles of rebel princess and upstart queen came easily to her. But at Reaver's mansion, she could be someone else: a brat in need of chastising, a slave for pleasure. An unknown need deep within her was coming to the surface.

She remembered too the wild passion she had seen in Reaver's eyes when he lost his characteristic control and finally fucked her. She felt the desperate heat all over again as she thought of how savagely he had buried himself inside her. She wanted to make him break down like that again.

Such thoughts clashed strongly with the duties of the rest of her life, however. The threat of the coming Darkness was very real, and she tried to sober herself with the preparations necessary to defend Albion. Allrianne was truly not certain she would be able to raise enough funds to keep everyone safe. She understood all too well now, why her brother had become so hard, and downright despotic over the people. She never would have guessed she would now be considering even harsher restrictions and taxation. It was so easy to retreat instead, into memories of ill-gotten pleasures…

But down that road lay danger. Thinking too fondly of Reaver might make her sympathetic to his barrage of exploitative petitions to the throne. Letting herself be carried off in the flow of his flowery prose, the Queen had almost found herself agreeing with his classist rant in favor of opening Brightwall Academy only to those who could pay a hefty fee… she had come to her senses in time to make the right decision, and make the Academy's knowledge available to all, but it worried her. She had come very close to compromising her values under the weight of the pressures upon her.

Allrianne remained conflicted over her own choices and desires as the next few weeks unfolded. She heard no word of Reaver's next soiree, and tried to bury her disappointment in good deeds across Albion. She immersed herself in the efforts to build Driftwood into a safe and respectable haven, attempting to ignore Reaver's sarcastic little sign posted at the head of the trail she passed down each day. It was an unwelcome reminder of her mixed loyalties. She knew she could save herself and the denizens of Driftwood much grief and effort if she were just to confront the man, convince him to leave them in peace, but she no longer trusted herself in his presence. That villain spoke to everyone as if he had carnal knowledge of their most intimate desires; she could no longer brush it off now that in her case it was true. Even if he didn't know that. Hopefully he did not notice that her acid tongue found few retorts for his outlandish justifications in the throne room these days, nor observed the way her gaze wandered over his rakish form in distracted moments, or how she could no longer look him in the eye.

And so she passed by that saccharine "eviction notice" every time she checked in on Driftwood, and every time it reminded her she had given one of Albion's greatest villains power over their ruler. Not her most Heroic deed. All she could do now was limit the damage; she resolved to stand firmly with Page and her other allies in all matters of state. So long as she was putting herself under the influence of Reaver's ecstatic drug, she did not trust her own judgment.

She began to feel as frantic as the poor addicts she observed in the slums of her beloved city, as more days passed without the announcement of any more parties to be held at Reaver's abode. At first, the memories of their previous encounters had been enough to sate her, but that time was long past. Every fiber of her was burning for another touch, be it caress or blow. One day found her passing Reaver in the halls of the palace; courteously he took her hand in his gloved fingers and raised it to his lips with a bow and a steady gaze from beneath his fringe of dark hair. There was nothing more, he passed on about his business. Still, Allrianne's blood ignited with such a rush of sweet, painful desire that she had to excuse herself from her escort and seek her chambers. Fruitlessly she tried to sate that desire on her own, but no amount of frantic, wailing orgasming could cool the agitation firmly lodged in her core.

Desperately, she formulated a plan which, though humiliating, seemed to Allrianne to be the only way she could get what she needed so deeply. Perhaps, if she appeared at Reaver's doorstep one evening, dressed for a masquerade and pretending to be confused about the date, he would take advantage of the opportunity and entertain her privately?


	7. Chapter 7

Reaver sat alone in his study, utterly uninterested in the Reaver Industries documents laid out before him. Legitimate business was certainly an effective way to achieve great wealth, power, and respect, but it lacked… spark. He swirled his brandy as he let his mind wander to more titillating subjects. He was quite pleased with the way his seductive little plan with the Queen was going. True, she had yet to decide in his favor in matters of the realm, but she was so clearly unbalanced with desire for him that it was only a matter of time. He had thought that holding off on the next masquerade, and thus their next encounter, might add a useful sense of desperation to Allrianne's heart. Certainly she had positively swooned when he "accidentally" met her so briefly in the halls of the palace the other day. But now he was beginning to rethink the necessity of that strategy. Not in the least part because of the way his own thoughts kept turning to their nights together: the defiant curve to her jaw as she knelt to him, the heaving of her heavy breasts as she panted with desire, her greedy lips on his cock… He shook his head and turned over another paper. He had had countless lovers in the long years of his perennial youth, but it had been a long time since one had gotten this far into his head. He made it his business, not caring about people, and he reminded himself that this was not care, simply lust, pure and easy. It was only the thrill of bedding a fellow Hero, and the wicked perfection of the lies and secrets between them that caught his interest so.

Still, the woman had undone him. He had meant to tease her for hours at their last meeting. When she had disobeyed his command so blatantly, and moaned her orgasm around his very manhood, an awful need had risen up in him. A need to possess her utterly, to punish her with his cock, to fuck her into oblivion. The emotion had passed, of course. They all did. But Reaver had thought himself nigh incapable of being truly interested by anyone, anymore. Certainly this was a game worth following through.

His reverie was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. He was not expecting any guests tonight. Curious, he cracked open the door to the study so as to overhear the butler greeting his mysterious visitor.

"Yes, my lady?"

"I'm here for the party?" Reaver opened the door so he could see over the balcony edge, but the butler's form blocked his view. Was that the Queen's voice?

"I'm sorry my Lady, there is no party tonight," the butler was saying, but Allrianne pushed past him into the foyer. Yes it was her, in a slim purple gown and the feathered mask she had worn to their every meeting thus far.

Reaver suppressed a chuckle at the Queen's humiliating ploy, pretending to get the date wrong for a ball that had never been announced, just for a chance to see him! She must be overripe indeed to have made this play, and his cock stirred at the thought. "Oh, show her in, my good man," Reaver called cheerfully down to the butler, deciding to take full advantage of this surprise. Business could wait.

Reaver strode down the staircase with his trademark smirk, knowing he looked every bit as handsome and stylish in his casual silk housecoat as he did in his more formal attire. It just made him look that much more touchable, he thought. "What an unexpected yet fortuitous surprise for me," he said as he watched the disguised Queen tremble ever so slightly at his approach. "While I regret to say that no, there is no masquerade tonight, I don't see why we can't take advantage of the situation lying before us, and have our own private party, what do you say?"

A shy smile bloomed at the corners of Allrianne's mouth and she gave a small curtsy, eyes cast down. "Yes, Master Reaver, that would be just as nice."

So, she intended to maintain the ruse, that she really had thought he was hosting a ball tonight. And her tone was not subservient enough at all. Best to remind her into whose clutches she had just placed herself. He stepped closer, looming into her personal space. "Yes, just the two of us, no pesky onlookers to witness the things I've been dying to do to you." He traced a finger down the side of her upturned face, felt her go still beneath his touch. "I dare say there may be a few things that it just would not do to have any witnesses for," he breathed into her ear, then turned abruptly to the butler. "We will take wine, in the sitting room I think, and fetch that bag from beside the bureau? You know the one."

Reaver turned back to Allrianne, the very picture of a refined gentleman as he proffered his arm to her. "Shall we?" He did not miss the moment of hesitation before she took his arm with a brave smile. He was greatly pleased at how easy it was to unnerve the proud Hero. Then again, Reaver had certainly proven his reputation for unpredictable and deadly violence many times in her presence already. He felt a stirring between his legs again as he imagined the Queen of Albion's fear of him.

In the sitting room, another servant hurriedly stoked the fire, then scurried away, as Reaver bid his guest to take a seat on a plush red couch before it. Reaver waited a beat before sitting upon the same couch himself, much closer than would be polite.

"I wonder, actually, if anyone even knows you're here," he said, abruptly continuing the conversation. He paused to accept the wine brought by another servant. He rested his head in his other hand, elbow propped up on the back of the couch. "I think you sneak out at night," he said in a conspiratory tone, "to come visit your beloved Reaver. You always arrive in a hired coach, and the drivers say you hail them off the street, already masked and disguised…" he smiled as he noticed the wine glass stop halfway to Allrianne's pink petal lips as he mentioned researching into her identity. Her manner of conveyance was of no concern to him of course; it was obvious to him who she was, there was no need to interrogate her drivers. But he did so enjoy watching her squirm. "All my guests pretend at anonymity, of course, but you my dear seem to take it several steps farther. Whoever could you be, and what could be the harm in my knowing? We are all alone now, pet, at least tell me who you're hiding your identity from."

Allrianne was silent, looking for all the world like a deer caught in the sights of his rifle. He waited just long enough to take a sip from his glass. "No answer, even now. Why then, it must be ime/i you're hiding from!" He laughed in feigned joy. "I'm delighted! Honored, really. I do so love when the story turns out to be all about me." He paused to sip again. "Now, what manner of intrigue lies between us, that you can share your body with me so freely, and yet not your face?"

Allrianne looked very solemn, and met his eyes directly. "Do not ask this, Master Reaver," she said, soft yet firm. "Let what I choose to reveal to you be enough."

Reaver mulled that one over for a moment. He still didn't like her tone. And he didn't like to be told no. But he had to step carefully, if he was to maintain his dominance yet keep her comfortable enough to stay interested. "Very well, seeing as quite a lot of you is about to be revealed," he replied, wagging his eyebrows at her décolletage. "But you must pardon my guesses, I do so love a good puzzle." He rested his free hand just above her knee, then began walking his fingers up her body. He found the cheap satin of her dress quite disagreeable; he understood her desire to disguise herself as a woman of lesser means, but had she no care for his tactile pleasure? It simply had to come off. "Perhaps you are the daughter of one of my rivals," he mused aloud, fingers making their way around the curve of her hip and over her tight belly. There was no corset underneath the thin dress. "You were smitten with me during a hostile takeover, as you watched me dashingly strip your father of his once-promising business interests…" again his mind touched on the definite lack of thrill inherent in his current lifestyle, however comfortable the trappings of legitimacy may be. His hand smoothed over the swell of her breast, only teasing as he moved to curl his fingers around the neckline of her offending gown. "And now you sneak out, in disguise, to hide the betrayal of your yearnings…"

Casually, he dropped his wine glass off the back of the couch, to free his other hand. Jumping at the crash of breaking glass, Allrianne was too distracted to stop the former pirate king from burying his second hand in the fabric of her gown and pulling, easily ripping the flimsy fabric open past her waist. Belatedly, she made a defensive reaction to cover herself, though Reaver saw, true to his suspicions, that she wore nothing underneath. This was more like it, a proper ravishing like the old days. She clutched the ragged pieces of her dress close to her chest and glared at him through that damned feather mask. He wrapped his hands around her wrists but paused before forcing her arms apart. "So tell me, darling, am I close?"

Allrianne's jaw clenched into that delightful stubborn tilt he observed so often when he saw her in the throne room. The reminder of their usual confrontations made him want to do terrible things. Terribly… unstrategic things. She leaned her head a little nearer to his face. "Are you close? You are terribly, laughably far from the truth of me."

There she was, at last, the real Queen peeking out from behind the submissive timidity with which she had been approaching him thus far. Reaver could not hide a triumphant grin as he responded with a little genuine motivation of his own and moved one hand into position to wring her little neck. With the other he held both her wrists tightly as she struggled against the slow pressure he began to apply. Not enough to cut off her breathing, yet, but enough to make her fear it… "Well, the night is young yet," he said in a bored tone, "and we shall see who is laughing by the end." He claimed her mouth then, determined to get the last word. Besides, those full pink lips gasping for breath were almost too much to resist. The Queen returned his kiss with enthusiasm, he noted, even though the rest of her may be struggling to escape. Reaver had found through his long life of villainy that he did not have a taste for true rapine, if anything forcing a woman was just too easy. But this seduction, the heady mix of lust and fear, knowing that his lover was giving in to him despite hesitations of fear, propriety, pain, even hate… this was what stirred his blood. Tonight, he meant to push the Queen to the edge of regretting she had ever come, and only when he could see that in her eyes would he be satisfied.

He broke off the kiss to force both her hands above her head and against the cushioned edge of the couch. Her ruined dress fell open, revealing the lovely contrast of full breasts above a fit, battle-hardened abdomen. A fellow Hero was a rare treat to take to bed on any night, but one whose gaze held such an intense mixture of desire and contempt positively drove him wild. Reaver began caressing her luscious figure, still staring into those eyes. Pleasure. He rolled her nipple between his fingers, then gave it a hard tweak. Anger. He smirked and resumed more gentle play with the other. Pleasure. Allrianne's gaze softened, unfocused as she gave in to his touch. Reaver raked his nails hard across her ribs, earning another flash of fire.

Abruptly he released her, turning to open the bag he had requested, silently delivered by the butler. "Take off that appalling excuse for a dress," Reaver commanded as he looked through his tools. "All you need wear is this." He turned back to Allrianne with her collar in his hands, the symbol of her submission to his will. He did not think she realized the defiance, and slight note of revulsion, that passed across her face whenever he demanded submission like this. It was her most alluring feature.

She stepped out of her clothes and knelt before him, neck outstretched. It would have been a perfectly submissive gesture, had she not kept her eyes on his the whole time. Mask or no, she looked every inch the Queen as she placed herself in his power. Reaver locked the clasp around her neck and then gave the collar a rough tug, such that she almost lost her balance. Just to earn another smoldering look from her, that clash of lust and anger. While he had intended to drag the evening out, ominous and slow, he felt rise now an overwhelming urge to have her, quick and dirty right here on the rug. And why not? He could have her tonight as many times as he liked. He shrugged out of his housecoat, more of a robe really, and grabbed hold of her collar again as he stood, tearing deftly at the ties on his pants. He pushed her back onto the rich rug before the fireplace and came crashing down on top of her, enjoying the feeling of his mostly naked body upon hers. Her eyes flashed excitement and surprise at his quick approach, and she closed them with a lusty moan when he positioned himself at her entrance. She felt hot, and wet, and her hips arched eagerly to meet his. The best kind of seduction? No, she was slightly too willing, he felt, and he paused to wrap that hand around her throat again, just above the lovely collar. This time he closed off the airway fully. Her eyes flew open, ferocity tinged with fear, and he waited for her to gasp and buck before he drove himself into her. He released her neck and grabbed the collar again, tugging her down in time with his eager thrusts. Her arms clutched his back, and he groaned in pleasure as she unexpectedly scratched her nails down his spine. He let himself come quick and strong; there would be other times to show off stamina and self-control. This fuck was pure indulgence.

He languished beside her on the rug afterwards. The spill of her hair looked so lovely against its rich red tones. "I acquired this rug in Aurora," Reaver mused, twisting a lock around his finger. "You know, they have the most curious custom there of shaving off all of their hair. Now, I do find a lack of hair on the head to be quite repugnant on a woman. However, I found the rest of the body to be quite enhanced." Ah, the spark of indignation was beginning to kindle most delightfully in the Queen's eyes as he continued, "I happen to employ a manservant who is also a very excellent barber, it is he who keeps my own impressive jawline so gloriously smooth." Reaver paused to stroke the chin in question, with satisfaction. He could swear the Queen's eyebrow arched behind that unnecessary mask. "I think I would quite like to see my pet similarly shorn before the night continues, that I might more fully admire all of her treasures. Besides… I have made quite a mess of you, so early in the evening." He frowned as he surveyed the puddle of love trickling from her thighs to the expensive carpet below. "Yes," he said briskly, lifting himself from the floor, "we must have an interlude, to attend to our appearances, which are ever so important to maximize the experience of pleasure. Would you not agree?"


End file.
